


Nanshoku

by irisbleufic



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-17
Updated: 2007-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein unrequited love is a drag, Hiro has a month to panic, and history holds helpful answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nanshoku

**Author's Note:**

> The title's translation, for those of you who don't know the cultural reference, will come into play as the story unfolds. This was written for Mosca in the 2007 _Heroes_ Valentine's Day Fic Exchange: she requested assumed-unrequited love on both sides with a garnish of obscure Japanese cultural references. ***** Award:[Best of _Heroes_ Hiro/Ando (R/NC-17) Category](http://bestofheroes.livejournal.com/3158.html) *****

**February 14, 2005**

Just like last year, the entire office smelled of expensive chocolate. Hiro stared at his clock, wishing that the second hand would do—well, the peculiar stop-start thing that it usually did when he concentrated on it for any length of time—just to distract him from the fact that it was after lunchtime and there were only two boxes of chocolate on his desk. He suspected they were from Masako, the middle-aged secretary downstairs. She'd done the same thing last year, mostly because she'd heard him lamenting what happened the year before _that_ and felt sorry for him.

"Hey! Hiro!"

"Ando- _kun_ ," Hiro said noncommittally, keeping his eyes fixed on the clock as his friend wheeled his chair up beside Hiro's. Ando glided to a stop, almost spilling the tower of square white boxes he carried in his lap.

Hiro glanced at Ando, who was studying Hiro's two small boxes with abject pity.

"Masako?" he asked, not very hopefully.

"Yes," Hiro answered, letting his eyes sweep deliberately down Ando's tower of boxes. "Sales department?" he asked, flatly.

"To be honest, I have no idea," Ando said, his tone of disdain almost convincing. He took the top three boxes off his stack and added them to Hiro's with a good-riddance gesture. "I can't keep track of them all, and how am I supposed to know if it's _giri_ or _tomo_?"

"Or _honmei_ ," Hiro replied, glumly, and fixed his eyes back on the second hand. To the best of his knowledge, Ando wasn't dating anyone, but it was always a blow when Valentine's Day rolled around. While most of the boxes were probably of the _giri-choko_ or _tomo-choko_ variety—most of the women in the office felt obliged, and a few of them _were_ Ando's friends—it was no secret that Ando was considered one of the more attractive bachelors at Yamagato Industries.

"I doubt it," Ando said, and by his tone of voice, Hiro could tell he was wearing that annoying cheer-up smile that he liked to use when Hiro was discouraged. He gave Hiro's arm a companionable nudge. "What about yours? I'll bet Masako is pining away."

"Very funny," Hiro said, flashing Ando a halfhearted glare. "She's almost old enough to be my mother. At least the girls in Sales are in our age group."

Ando gave him a teasingly reproachful look. "Are you trying to tell me that age actually _matters_ to someone like you?"

Hiro pushed away from his desk, blinking indignantly.

"Of course not!" he said, automatically, but it was only a few seconds before his brain caught up with the first part of what Ando had said. "Wait— _someone like me_?"

Ando rolled his eyes and added another of his boxes to Hiro's stack.

"Yes, someone as _nice_ as you are. People don't appreciate that these days, Hiro," Ando told him, pushing his own chair back by a few inches. "Come on, let's get back to work before Nagatsu gets off lunch."

"I hope his chocolate falls on him," Hiro said, despondently. Ando shrugged and wheeled away down the aisle, pausing a few time to applaud the confectionary accomplishments of their co-workers. Hiro watched until Ando had reached his own cubicle, then turned back to the clock.

No matter how much sympathetic _tomo-choko_ Ando gave him, it would never be quite the same as his farfetched wish for _honmei-choko_ instead. Year after year, exactly a month later—on White Day, when men were supposed to return the favor—his desk was always empty. Masako was always glad of Hiro's reciprocation, and she never took it the wrong way. Thank goodness for _that_. If Ando ever returned the favor to any of the girls in Sales, Hiro didn't especially want to know.

Under Hiro's troubled, steady gaze, the second-hand ticked to a stop. He felt a surge of hope, but it had nothing to do with accomplishing a useless trick of which he already knew himself to be perfectly capable.

"Maybe it'll get the message across," he murmured to himself, his concentration breaking just as the second-hand decided to start ticking again. _And just in time_ , he thought.

It was a crazy idea, and he didn't even know if he could afford it.

**February 18, 2005**

"Can you believe that, Hiro- _kun_?" Ando asked, incredulous, waving his beer bottle dangerously close to Hiro's nose. "Five thousand yen! What a waste. I didn't even like most of the flavors. Do you want the rest? I'll bring them to work on Monday."

"No thanks," Hiro said, sitting back so that he was well out of Ando's drunken reach. "How many beers have you had, four?"

"Three," Ando corrected him, setting the empty bottle down emphatically. "But _five thousand yen_. Do they pay Sales better than they pay us?"

"I don't know," Hiro said, truthfully. He took a sip of his beer and made a face. When Ando bought rounds, he could never be entirely certain what he was going to get. "The more expensive the gift, the more the person likes you," he said, slowly so that Ando's chances of taking in the information would be improved. "Kano told me that Nagatsu got a box from Kita that was worth ten thousand."

Ando's brow furrowed as he took a deep swallow of his beer.

"That's extremely stupid of her, considering she's in love with Mazakazu," he finally concluded, turning his bottle upside-down in Hiro's empty Coke glass left over from the first round. "Then again, Nagatsu is everybody's boss and shouts louder than your father, so she probably thought it would keep her on his good side. _Giri_ to the hundredth degree, Hiro. Don't feel so bad. I gave you at least ten thousand yen's worth, between those four boxes. I hope they were good."

"So far, yes, they're very good," Hiro said, somewhat taken by surprise at Ando's candid confession. "Thank you very much. It was extremely generous of you."

Ando made a face, then began to laugh so hard that his face turned slightly pink.

"So formal! You're talking to me like we've only known each other for a couple of hours. What is this, Hiro—a date? Next thing I know, you'll be up there serenading me with Whitney Houston songs. I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you can't sing."

"You're the one drunk enough to do it, not me," Hiro pointed out, realizing that the heat in his cheeks meant he must be blushing at least a shade or two darker than Ando's flush.

"I'm not drunk," Ando insisted. "Next round's your turn anyway."

"I don't think we're having any more," Hiro said, forcing a yawn. "I have too much work to finish at home. I'll eat ten-thousand-yen chocolate and think of your hangover." He got up quickly, indifferent to what was left of his beer. "Good night, Ando."

"Hey, Hiro!" protested Ando, stumbling into Hiro just as he made it to the club's front door. "Don't you want the rest of your beer? What about catching the train to your place and watching a film? You haven't shown me _Back to the Future: Part III_ yet."

"No," Hiro said, steadying his friend. For a moment, it was hard to look away: Ando's eyes weren't any remarkable color, but they were wide and tended to be cruelly expressive when he'd had too much to drink. Suddenly, Hiro didn't feel like a very nice person—but this was a matter of self-preservation and discipline, and he couldn't expect Ando to understand that when he had more beer in his veins than blood.

"Good night, Ando," he said a second time, this time taking his friend gently by the shoulders. "If you want to catch the train with me, nothing is stopping you. Forget about the rest of my beer. Come on," he added, defeated, leading Ando outside.

"You're right about one thing," Ando said as they staggered down the stairs to the train platform. "I'm going to have a massive hangover."

"Don't worry," Hiro said, forcing his habitual optimistic tone. "Tomorrow is Saturday. You can sleep for as long as you want."

Ando gave him a crestfallen look.

"No film, then?"

"No film," Hiro said, quickly faking another yawn behind his hand. "Too tired."

"You said you had work."

"I do," Hiro said, taking hold of Ando's shoulder just as the train rolled to a stop at the platform. "Get in. I'll make sure you get off at the right place."

"Fine," Ando said, and was silent until his usual stop. He didn't bother to say goodbye.

 _No_ , Hiro thought, dismally hanging onto the overhead bar as the train lurched back into motion. _Things aren't fine at all_.

He hoped he could scrape together ten thousand yen in less than a month. Worse yet, he didn't know if Ando even liked white chocolate. Marshmallows, maybe, but he couldn't imagine he'd hear the end of it if someone happened to catch him putting those on Ando's desk.

"I'm in trouble," he told the New York City poster on the wall in front of him. "Lots of it."

**February 21, 2005**

" _NAKAMURA!_ "

Hiro tried to vanish into his chair, stop the clock, _anything_ —but Nagatsu's bullet-train advance was as inevitable as Hiro's rising humiliation.

"Yes, sir?" he squeaked, his right ear already pinched between the manager's aggressive fingers.

"Where the hell is your friend this morning?"

"Wh—who?"

" _MASAHASHI!_ You know who I'm talking about!"

"Ando was – uh. I don't know, sir. Didn't he call in sick?"

"Oh, so he's _sick_ is he? Leaving it to you to cover for him? Some friend, Nakamura. Did it ever occur to you to check—"

"I don't _know!_ " Hiro protested, finally managing to twist out of Nagatsu's grasp. "But I can call him, sir. Just give me a minute."

"No sense in that," said Nagatsu, sourly, straightening his jacket. "Get busy, Nakamura."

"Yes, sir," Hiro said, and picked up the phone as soon as the manager had stalked out of sight. He dialed Ando's number with shaking fingers, holding onto the receiver tightly.

" _Unh_. Hello, Masahashi Ando speaking."

"Ando- _kun_ , you're in big trouble," Hiro told him, gravely. "Are you all right?" To be honest, Hiro had been worried all weekend. He hadn't heard from Ando on Saturday _or_ Sunday, and that had given him ample opportunity to panic over how little spare change he had sitting around his apartment. And over the fact that he was completely, uselessly in love with someone who probably couldn't even conceive of the concept. Ando's worldview really stood to benefit from reading comic books and science fiction, but he never took Hiro's recommendations seriously. Not until recently, anyway. Ando actually seemed to be enjoying the _Back to the Future_ trilogy…and, like an idiot, Hiro had driven him away on Friday night. _Wonderful_.

"…been drinking lots of water, just like you told me to last time, and—Hiro, are you still there? _Hiro?_ "

"I'm sorry," Hiro said, quickly, snapping back to attention. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I should've called you. Do you want me to sneak out early and come over? Do you want me to bring you anything? Do you have enough aspirin? Coffee?"

There was dead silence on Ando's end of the line.

"Yes," he said, finally, as if recovering from some shock. "I mean—yes, coffee, but not aspirin."

Hiro bit his lip, but he'd better ask again, just to be on the safe side. "You… _want_ me to come over? You're sure?"

"I'm not at work, am I?" Ando asked, and Hiro could hear the smile in his voice. It was weak.

"I'll leave as early as I can," Hiro promised.

"Then you'll be in trouble with Nagatsu, too."

Hiro glanced around before covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Screw Nagatsu. He got twenty-thousand yen in chocolate and didn't share with _anybody_." Hiro hung up before Ando could react, trembling. He'd be in deeper trouble than he'd been in a long time, but he could never remember a time it had been more worth the risk.

**February 25, 2005**

As the credits rolled, the two of them sat in silence.

"Wow," Ando said, finally, stretching his long body and falling back limply against the cushions beside Hiro. "It had a happy ending. I didn't think it would."

"What do you mean, you didn't think it would?" Hiro asked, incredulously. "It's how the formula works. The first two turn out just fine, so the last one has to follow the pattern, too. The stakes get higher each time, but the outcome is the same." Hiro pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, sighing. "True love _always_ prevails."

"Always?" Ando asked, turning his head just enough to give Hiro a dubious look. There was mirth in his eyes, too, and a bit of the alcohol-flush to his cheeks. He'd brought along some of the excellent _sake_ that his father had given him for his birthday. It had filled Hiro's kitchen with the bright scent of fermented rice and sharp notes of cherry as they warmed it. They had finished it by the time the film was half over.

Hiro considered the television screen, then slouched down beside Ando and decided to take a chance.

"Always," he said, firmly, looking Ando square in the face. From this angle, it was easy to feel a bit tipsy himself—who knew, he probably was. His cheeks weren't the only part of him that felt warm, and, judging by the way Ando was sprawled—so different from his usual proper, graceful posture—he wasn't the only one feeling it.

Ando half-nodded, then closed his eyes for a few seconds. Hiro was surprised when they opened again; he thought Ando had fallen asleep. The look in them was softer now, and somehow more intense. Hiro scolded his imagination, but he couldn't help it: Ando seemed to be leaning just a little closer than before.

"If you could go back in time, would you change anything?" he asked, plaintively honest.

Hiro considered this, frowning. It wasn't like Ando to wax philosophical, but if too much rice wine was what it took to get him a step closer to open-minded, so be it.

"I would make sure I studied harder in school," Hiro admitted. "But I'm not sure that would be possible. What if running into yourself in the past—or in the future—has potential harmful consequences, just like it does for Marty?"

Ando was silent for a few more moments, then chuckled—forced, somehow, and very tired.

"You talk about it as if it could actually happen," he said, gazing up at Hiro's ceiling. Briefly, he looked sadder than Hiro had ever seen him.

"Maybe one day," Hiro said, thinking of the second hand, which he'd been thinking about more and more lately. "You never know what kinds of machines we might invent. You never know what kinds of powers we might discover."

"Powers? You mean like super-powers? You've got to stop reading _X-Men_ , Hiro."

"Do you know what your problem is, Ando?" Hiro asked, fixing Ando with another direct gaze. Enough was enough was _enough_. Hiro felt the tingle of the _sake_ flare into something different, yet familiar, all at once.

"No," Ando said, sounding like he might laugh again, "but, by all means, tell me, _sensei!_ "

"You have no imagination," Hiro whispered, concentrating on the dark rounds of Ando's eyes until the rest of the room seemed to spin and fade around him. "You don't believe in things that haven't happened to you, or to people you know, so you can't possibly begin to imagine them. You can't possibly begin to believe that I lo—"

Hiro froze, clamping both hands over his mouth.

Ando didn't respond. He was frozen, too, his eyes glassy and languid, and his chest showed no signs of rising and falling. Hiro stared for a few seconds, caught on the brink of panic.

"Ando," he whispered, frantically, shaking his friend's arm. " _Ando!_ "

Ando didn't budge. It was about then that Hiro realized that the television screen was frozen in mid-scroll through the credits, and his eyes darted instinctively to the clock on the wall. The second-hand was completely still, no longer given to stutters.

"Oh," Hiro gasped. " _Oh_ , not possible. Ando! _Ando_ , I think I—"

"What! Ouch," Ando shouted, lurching back into motion. The sound of the television flared to life, and the tick of the clock thundered in Hiro's ears, unnaturally loud. "Hiro, take it easy! It was only a question; don't get worked up. Hiro, let go, that _hurts_."

Hiro let go of Ando's arm, humiliated. He stared at his hands, searching for something to say, but all he could think was: _Time stopped, you stopped, everything just stopped!_

"You think you what?" Ando was saying, gently, one hand on Hiro's shoulder. He was leaning so close that Hiro could smell the _sake_ on his breath.

"Had too much to drink," Hiro said, and sagged back against the couch. Ando's hand was trapped behind his shoulder, but he was both too shocked and too relieved to care.

"Maybe I should stay," Ando said, pressing his free hand to Hiro's forehead. "Bring _you_ aspirin this time. At least there's no work tomorrow."

What Hiro wanted to say was, "Yes, I want that more than anything," but what he said instead was, "S—stay? Here? Overnight? I don't have room!"

"Your couch is one of my favorite spots," Ando said, half jokingly. The other half was honesty; it was stronger in his eyes than the alcohol now, reassuring and warm.

"Oh," Hiro said, and sagging against Ando's shoulder as he blacked out was the last thing he remembered.

**March 2, 2005**

Going back to work on Monday had been absolute torture, and not even Nagatsu could make it worse than it already was. Hiro stared at his clock, unable to concentrate. He couldn't stop the second hand, and he couldn't seem to get any programming done, either.

Ando had spent the entire weekend at Hiro's apartment, camped out on the couch with Hiro's spare pillows and a bunch of old blankets. Hiro had never had a hangover before, not even a mild one, and he supposed that was kind of a pathetic track record for twenty-three years of life. Still, with Ando being so attentive, it had been difficult to concede that he was ready to get up and do things for himself again until late Sunday afternoon. Ando had spent most of his time perched on the edge of Hiro's bed, politely listening as Hiro explained the plots of at least ten different comic series. It was a chance he'd never have again, and it had seemed as if Ando actually enjoyed _X-Men_ more than he normally let on. Alas, all good things came to an end, and Ando had left on Sunday evening.

It was Wednesday now, and Hiro would never think of the week's halfway point the same way again. He'd spent the past couple of evenings frantically running internet searches on Tokyo shops with reasonably priced , yet well-reviewed confections. He had turned up a few promising options, but he was sternly beginning to remind himself that the candy was actually the least of his problems. Ando was fond of him, he could be sure of that—but exactly how far would that fondness get them? Surely not as far as Hiro's fondness for Ando. He had to find a way of explaining himself, or else Ando might never speak to him again. The thought was intolerable.

At lunch, Ando sat down beside him and chattered on about trivial things as if the weekend hadn't altered his world. Hiro stared at what was left of his bento box, not so hungry anymore. Time had _stopped_. He didn't know how, or why, but he was sure of that, and he'd felt the room change when he was looking into Ando's eyes.

"Hiro, did you hear _anything_ I just said?" Ando asked, tapping the back of Hiro's wrist with his chopsticks.

"No," Hiro admitted, giving Ando an apologetic look.

"I think you need a change of scenery," Ando said, changing the subject. "Let's get out of the city tonight. There's got to be something interesting to do that doesn't involve Tokyo clubs."

"That's okay," Hiro said. "I'm tired out from the weekend. I need time alone."

"You were in _bed_ all weekend," Ando pointed out, dubiously.

"Trust me, Ando," Hiro said, putting the remainder of his lunch back together and into his bag. "Just a few days with no clubs, or beer, or _sake_ , or films. Nothing."

Ando nodded—he didn't seem to understand, but Hiro's outburst silenced him.

As usual, they parted ways on the train. Hiro ran the whole way from the station to his apartment. Not bothering to check his mail or lock the door, he went straight to the bedroom. His laptop was on the desk, just as he'd left it that morning. It flickered to life at his touch, and a few clicks and numerous taps later, the search was underway.

He'd read enough manga; he certainly wasn't stupid. He also remembered reading stories about the samurai, years ago, that had been very unpopular with his friends. Terms like _nanshoku_ and _bido_ nagged at the corners of his memory: _male colors, the beautiful way_. He'd find them again if it took him all night.

Hopefully, he'd run across some pictures of cool swords while he was at it. He kept meaning to buy one at a con, but he never seemed to have enough spare money. Registration and hotel room costs were bad enough, and the _books_ …

"White chocolate first," he said, resolutely, and bowed to the two samurai on his screen.

**March 7, 2005**

On Monday morning of the next week, Hiro found Ando waiting for him at his desk.

"Okay, I'm not letting you be the Recluse anymore. We're getting drunk this evening."

"You can get drunk," Hiro said, setting his briefcase down beside his chair. "I'll say a little behind in case you forget how to walk again."

Ando smirked at him. "I'll make sure you stay away from the _sake_."

"Deal," Hiro said, glancing around the wide room. Their co-workers were trickling in a few at a time, and Hosozawa Muri was giving them a strange look. It wasn't every day Ando sat on Hiro's desk. Hiro was more likely to be sitting on Ando's desk.

"You had better go," Hiro said, tugging Ando down.

"See you after work," Ando said, and started down the aisle.

"Wait," Hiro called after him. "What about lunch?"

An unreadable look crossed Ando's features, then vanished as quickly as it had come.

"I told a school friend we'd meet up today," he said, apologetic and regretful at the same time.

"Oh," Hiro said. "I understand. Have a good time."

"I'll try," Ando said, and walked off.

 _No time like the present_ , Hiro told himself, shoving disappointment as far to the back of his mind as he could. He'd be able to put the time to good use, after all, seeing as he'd been worried about actually having time to shop without Ando at his heels.

During afternoon rush hour, the sidewalks were difficult to navigate. Hiro doubted he'd get back to his desk on time, but he'd just have to be willing to endure another verbal flaying from Nagatsu. He'd been at Yamagato for going on three years now, and if anything had remained constant, it was his insufferable manager.

Well, that and Ando, who made the situation tolerable.

Finally, Hiro's frantic scanning of building numbers paid off. The candy store looked very fancy indeed, but he could see some White Day price tags in the window, and none of them made him wish he'd put the money aside for a sword instead. He ducked inside, narrowly missing a man with a fancy-looking white bag on his way out.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry," Hiro muttered, letting his eyes dart to the first box of chocolate in sight. Dark, milk, truffles. No good. He needed what was in the windows, which would probably involve asking a sales assistant. There were two smiling young women in the shop, one helping a gentleman choose something for his wife and another straightening up boxes on one of the shelves. She looked like the one least likely to laugh at him, and his assessment turned out to be correct. She didn't seem to mind his stammering about something in the range of seven to nine thousand yen, and she brought out no fewer than four boxes for him to choose from. Ando might not like any of them, so Hiro pointed at the one she'd set closest to him on the counter. The chocolates behind the clear plastic were delicate, square-shaped, and looked like the rake from one of those miniature _zen_ gardens had been run across them. He paid—unable to keep from wincing a little—and got somewhat impatient with the elaborate boxing and bagging that ensued.

"I hope your lady-friend enjoys them very much!" chirped the sales girl.

"I'm sure…uh, yes," Hiro said, opting for a hasty thank-you smile. He dashed out the door, nearly bumping into another huffy-looking gentleman.

"Watch where you're going!"

" _Sorry!_ " Hiro shouted, and pushed his way through the crowd.

Later, after the lecture from Nagatsu and the tedious process of closing the office for the next day's business, Hiro found himself slumped in his usual chair at the same club Ando usually dragged him to. Somehow, he'd let Ando talk him into a shot of Captain Morgan's in his Coke. The room wasn't starting to swim yet, but it _was_ getting warmer.

"So, was your alone-time productive? What did you do, meditate on time travel all weekend?"

"No," Hiro said. "None of your business."

"You probably got some new comic books that you didn't want me to know about," Ando said, grinning, polishing off his second bottle of beer. "Shame on you, Hiro!"

"For your information, I was reading about samurai," Hiro snapped. The entire situation was beyond ridiculous. Briefly, he had wondered what would have happened if _he'd_ suggested a bar. One he'd looked up online, in case the opportunity presented itself.

"Oh? You're a historian now?" Ando asked, apparently surprised.

"Maybe," Hiro said. He was getting irritated, so he drank his glass down to the halfway mark. Deep, calming breaths, and a bit of rum gone to his head. That would help. He needed to be just slightly daring. "Is this a date now?" he shot back.

Ando blinked at him, as if he'd just said something in a dead language.

"I don't know," he said, shrugging, sitting back in his chair. "What if it was?"

"I could discuss my findings, for starters," said Hiro, hoping his tone came off as mysterious. The room was definitely starting to swim. He suspected there was more than one shot in his Coke, which was probably for the better.

Ando gave him a narrow-eyed look, then glanced around the club, as if noticing for the first time that very little personal interaction was going on. The girls were dancing wildly, but mostly with each other, and there were a lot of unhappy-looking men at the bar.

"We could…go somewhere you could discuss your findings," Ando suggested, for once more sober than Hiro was. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, most definitely am!" Hiro insisted, standing up so fast that he felt himself sway on his feet. "Or, um…maybe help me go somewhere you can…I can…discuss…"

Hiro wanted to say that he needed air, and Ando seemed to understand. He leaned heavily on Ando's shoulder, sagging with each step. By the time they got outside, Hiro was almost doubled over, eyes screwed shut. The last thing he needed was to be ill.

"Hiro, I'm worried about you," Ando was saying, helping him back to his feet. "Maybe you shouldn't drink for a while."

"You ordered the round!" Hiro snapped, trying to throw off Ando's arm. 

Ando held onto him, steering them down a nearby side street. "Look, sometimes they put in more than you tell them to. A shot means a shot and a half, maybe two. You just need to stand still, breathe, and get your bearings."

"I have my bearings," Hiro babbled, screwing his eyes shut again. The closest thing to lean on was still Ando's shoulder, so he couldn't quite help it that his mouth was crushed against Ando's collar. "I'm in an alley and you're the only thing keeping me from falling over. Also, you want to hear about my historical findings, which means I must be really very drunk for you to be humoring me like this. Ando?"

"Hiro, shhh, not so loud—"

"Ando, I'm going to throw up."

"Oh, Hiro. Right. Not on me— _here_ —"

It wasn't pleasant, but Ando kept him from falling on his face, and he felt better afterward. Ando handed him a handkerchief, which Hiro hadn't even realized he carried. He hated to use it, but he didn't have much choice, and there were no napkins in his bag. Besides, if Hiro opened his bag, Ando might see the chocolates there and wonder.

"Is that better?" Ando asked, helping Hiro stand up again. When Hiro tried to give back the handkerchief, Ando waved his hand dismissively. "You can keep it. A memento, in case we ever part." Ando was smiling, as if it was somehow a clever joke, but the look in his eyes didn't match the curve of his lips.

Hiro folded the handkerchief in on itself a second time, turning it over in his hands. It was as white as mountain snow, stark under the single streetlamp.

"I need to go home," Hiro said, involuntarily swaying back into the curve of Ando's arm—which, yes, was _already there_. He sagged, almost breathless. If time were to stop, he'd be able to turn his head, just so, and find Ando's cheek…

"That's a good idea," Ando said, and led Hiro back to the main street. 

_White_ , Hiro thought, clutching the handkerchief. _Black and white; all colors and none._

The train ride home had never been longer, and he kept his findings to himself.

**March 13, 2005**

Avoiding Ando as much as he could for six days had been the hardest thing Hiro had done in recent memory, but he had realized that if he expected his sanity to be intact on the 14th, it would be absolutely necessary.

Sunday evenings were good for last-minute procrastination, and that was exactly what Hiro was doing. He hadn't even bothered to take the chocolates out of his bag and make sure the packaging hadn't gotten bent or crushed. For most of Saturday, he'd hid himself behind stacks of comic books, and today—today had been devoted to re-watching _Back to the Future_ , because, as with all compelling trilogies, there was clearly a hidden message that bore repeating. As the credits to Part III rolled on his television screen, Hiro sighed and dropped the remote control on the floor.

The only message was the obvious one: all you need is love.

Hiro rolled onto his back, adjusting the pillow behind his head. It had been on his couch since the nights Ando had spent there, and if he pressed his nose into the slipcase, he could still smell Ando's no-nonsense shampoo. He wanted the smell on his own pillow, and in his sheets, and on his skin—

The door buzzer cut into Hiro's thoughts, harsh and uninvited. He leapt off the ouch, swearing under his breath, and staggered over to the intercom phone on his wall.

"Who's there?"

"Who do you think, Hiro? Or don't I exist anymore?"

Hiro swore again, turning back to the mouthpiece. He pressed the button in the cradle.

"Come up, Ando. It's open."

"Thanks," Ando replied, and the intercom clicked dead. His footsteps were quick and heavy on the staircase. 

Hiro put the phone back in its cradle, wiping his palms on his trousers and glancing around the room. He hadn't straightened up in at least three days. There were comics everywhere, and he hadn't even cleaned up the blankets. _Shit, shit, shit_.

There was no time. Ando was already knocking. 

Hiro took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob. He didn't look any better than the apartment; he had two days' worth of bed-head, and his rumpled _Star Wars_ t-shirt wasn't helping matters. He pulled the door open and, painfully, smiled.

It took him a few seconds to register that, in spite of the fact it was almost midnight, Ando was standing in front of him with a full bouquet of white flowers—rose, iris, lily—and a six-pack of glass bottled Coke, wearing the most terrified look Hiro had ever seen.

"No rum this time, Hiro," Ando said, as if his voice was on the verge of giving out. "I promise."

Hiro's rational mind couldn't put the pieces together fast enough, but, fortunately, his irrational mind—the part that took care of comics and stopping clocks and samurai love stories—was one step ahead of him, reaching for the flowers and bringing them up to his nose in a helpless rush of _it can't be, it can't be, it can't be!_

"I…hope you're not allergic," Ando managed, scratching his forehead awkwardly.

Hiro blinked at him over the fragrant mass of delicate, waxy petals, beyond caring that his glasses had slid embarrassingly far down the bridge of his nose. Flowers. _Flowers_. And Coke in glass bottles without rum, and…

"No," Hiro said, clearing his throat as he lowered the flowers just enough to speak. "I'm not."

"Can I come in, or are you going to chase me away with the sword you keep hidden in your closet?" Ando looked fairly close to crying, which was all at once the funniest and most pathetic thing Hiro had ever seen.

"I lied about the sword," he said, carefully setting the flowers aside on the kitchen counter. "I never actually saved enough to buy one," he went on, adrenaline fueling his sudden inspiration, "but I did save enough for this." 

Hiro rummaged behind the small kitchen table until he found his work bag amidst the scattered grocery sacks. The chocolates were just as he'd left them: over-packaged and overpriced. He tripped his way through the sacks of dry goods and offered them to Ando, abruptly feeling just as terrified as Ando surely still must.

Ando took the bag with his free hand, shaking it until the clear fastening tab gave and he could peer inside. His eyes widened briefly, then softened. He lifted his gaze to Hiro instead.

"Did you think it would take ten thousand yen to win me, Hiro?"

Hiro lowered his eyes, uncertain of what to do with his hands.

"N—no, not really. I just thought…you gave me so many, so much, I couldn't…"

Ando stepped to one side, and there was the sound of the bag and the six-pack of Coke being set down carefully on the counter. Hiro kept his eyes fixed on the floor, but it was impossible not to follow the progress of Ando's steps until they were toe to toe.

"Hiro, stop. _Look_ at me," Ando implored, reaching for Hiro's hands. He folded them in his long fingers – so good for typing, for flicking the odd cigarette, for arguing—and pulled Hiro to him in spite of how badly he was shaking. It hardly mattered. They both were.

"I'm looking at you, Ando," Hiro said. The look in Ando's eyes was one he'd seen before, sometimes hiding and sometimes unflinching, but it had never been like this, and he hoped now that it would never stop. He hoped time wouldn't stop, either—at least not now.

" _Bido_ ," Ando said, his voice very soft. "Is that what you found?"

"Yes," Hiro admitted, "and no. More than just that. _Nanshoku_. Black and white, all colors and no colors. _Our_ colors, Ando. You're not angry?"

"No, Hiro," Ando said, and his hands found Hiro's lips, his hair, his heart.

**March 14, 2005**

At first, it was clumsy and awkward. The clock refused to stop so that Hiro could catch his breath, but, if he thought about it, he didn't really want to catch his breath all that badly. He glanced at the second hand between kisses, counting the moments of the new morning. Ando moaned against his mouth, bringing him back to the present.

The couch was bigger than Hiro had expected—either that or the two of them put together were much smaller. Ando's body turned a soft, pale bronze in the room's low light, and Hiro didn't have much time to think about his own. Ando touched him everywhere: the corners of his mouth, the slight softness of his middle, the insides of his thighs. Overwhelmed, he tossed his head against the pillow. The room was a blur without his glasses, which Ando had removed with great reverence before wordlessly removing Hiro's t-shirt.

Ando was kissing Hiro's chest now, whispering something Hiro couldn't catch. Hiro gave in, whispering _yes, Ando- _kun_ , Ando_. Ando's hair slid effortlessly through his fingers, and Ando's mouth was on his belly now, leaving kisses like prayers and thanks.

Hiro let his hands drift to Ando's shoulders, drawing him up the length of his body, folding them as closely together as the pages in his memory. Ando sighed, then— _Hiro, I wanted to give you_ —and Hiro quiets him with a kiss and the glide of his unsteady hands down the small of Ando's back.

"Give me this," he gasped, helpless. Ando's skin, his heat, his weight…

Ando nodded and drew Hiro's knee up flush along his side, folding them closer still. It must have been much too much, much too soon. His cry caught Hiro by surprise, and the sudden wet heat spread between them as Ando's movements grew quick, uncontrollable.

"Thank you," Hiro whispered, and time became them: love, a small eternity, all they needed.


End file.
